Amber's consciousness drifts back like a distant echo, her mind sluggishly awakening to an overwhelming sense of disorientation. The thick, inky darkness that surrounds her is oppressive, swallowing every shape and form, leaving her blind to her surroundings. Panic bubbles beneath the surface as she attempts to move, but her limbs feel weightless as if she's suspended in a void, floating aimlessly in the vast emptiness of space. The sensation is unnerving, a creeping solitude that gnaws at her, slowly giving way to a growing dread that claws at the edges of her mind.
The confusion is profound, a dense fog clouding her thoughts, making it almost impossible to piece together any semblance of clarity. Everything is a chaotic swirl of fragmented memories and sensations. Then, like a puzzle piece snapping into place, the truth strikes her with chilling clarity—she believes she has died. But the certainty is elusive, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.
Her last coherent memory surfaces, vivid and jarring: the sensation of three bullets tearing into her chest, the searing pain that followed as she stumbled backward, colliding with the unforgiving metal of her kitchen stove. Flames erupted around her, a result of the hand sanitizer that had been smeared across her face during a violent struggle with... someone. The details are hazy, fragmented, and frustratingly out of reach. Who had she been fighting? The answer teeters on the edge of her awareness, maddeningly close yet just beyond her grasp.
But then, like a floodgate bursting open, it all comes rushing back. Sidney Prescott. Gale Weathers. The realization slams into her with the force of a tidal wave—she was Ghostface. The memories of that night, the blood, the screams, the terror she had inflicted on others, flood her consciousness. And then, the final blow—Tara. Sweet, innocent Tara, her sister in all but blood. The image is stark and brutal: Tara pulling the trigger, the bullet tearing through Amber's skull at point-blank range.
Amber's breath catches in her throat as the reality sinks in. She is dead. Or at least, she should be. But as she sits in the suffocating darkness, a new sensation prickles at the edges of her awareness. The faintest sound, distant and muffled, reaches her ears. It's like the hum of white noise, indistinct and frustratingly vague, but undeniably present. Voices. They're faint, barely more than a whisper, but they're there, cutting through the void.
A glimmer of hope stirs within her, a fragile, flickering light amid the overwhelming darkness. The voices—could they mean she's not truly dead? Perhaps she's in a coma, trapped in a liminal state between life and death, her body lingering in the world of the living while her mind is adrift in this endless void. The thought is both terrifying and comforting, offering a sliver of possibility in the face of the unknown. But as the voices continue to murmur in the distance, Amber is left teetering on the edge of uncertainty, unsure of what awaits her in the darkness.
She exhaled deeply, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her as she sank into the void further. The sigh echoed softly in the stillness, a quiet surrender to the turmoil churning within her mind. Her eyes grew distant, unfocused, as she stared blankly ahead, lost in a maze of emotions and memories.
With each passing second, the silence around her seemed to deepen, amplifying the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. She could feel the tension in her muscles slowly unwinding, but her mind refused to settle, flitting restlessly from one thought to the next. The memories, the doubts, the regrets—they all swirled together, a chaotic storm that she couldn't quite tame.
She folded her hands in her lap, fingers intertwining as if trying to hold onto something solid in the midst of the inner chaos. Her chest tightened with a mix of frustration and sadness, emotions she wasn't entirely ready to confront. All she could do was sit there, silently wrestling with the weight of everything she couldn't say out loud, letting the thoughts ebb and flow until they eventually dulled into a quiet resignation.
How did this happen? How am I alive? Is it some kind of miracle?
At first, her mind is consumed with an urgent, almost frantic focus on her own survival. Every thought is a tangled knot of anxiety and self-preservation, as she wrestles with the immediate fear of her precarious situation. Her thoughts race, assessing her circumstances, analyzing her options, and desperately seeking any sign of hope or escape. The instinctual drive to ensure her own safety takes precedence, each worry and consideration dominating her consciousness.
However, as the minutes tick by and the initial panic begins to subside, a shift starts to occur. The sharp edge of survival concerns begins to dull, allowing space for a new focus to emerge. Her thoughts slowly turn inward, shifting from the immediate fight for her life to deeper, more reflective contemplation. Questions that once seemed distant now surface with a surprising clarity. She finds herself pondering broader existential concerns, the implications of her situation, and the choices that have led her here.
The transition is gradual but significant. What began as an overwhelming fixation on immediate survival transforms into a more reflective consideration of the bigger picture. Her mind starts to explore themes of purpose, responsibility, and the impact of her actions on others. The shift from sheer survival to introspective contemplation marks a profound change in her mental state, as she begins to grapple with deeper, more abstract thoughts beyond the immediate crisis.
What do people think of me now? I must be hated, right? I have to be hated, I killed people! But, what if Liv survived? When I shot her, it was off, so maybe... she's also in a coma?
Amber releases another deep, weary sigh, the sound heavy with the exhaustion of her prolonged, unending darkness. The weight of her coma feels like an invisible burden pressing down on her shoulders, each breath a reminder of the relentless inertia that holds her in this suspended state. She stretches her arms above her head, her movements deliberate and slow, as if trying to shake off the stiffness that has settled into her muscles. The action is both a physical and symbolic gesture, an attempt to push back against the constraints of her immobile state.
Despite her efforts, the weariness lingers a thick fog that seeps into every corner of her being. With a gradual, almost reluctant surrender, she begins to recline, allowing her body to relax fully into the enveloping darkness that surrounds her. The darkness is all-encompassing, wrapping around her like a heavy, comforting blanket, its presence both oppressive and soothing.
As she settles into the embrace of her surroundings, a gentle, peaceful sensation begins to wash over her. It's a soft, enveloping calm that contrasts with the earlier tension, bringing with it a soothing reprieve. Her eyes, which had been tiredly open, finally closed with a delicate grace, the final gesture of surrender to the pull of sleep.
With each passing moment, she slips further into the realm of dreams, her breathing evening out as the darkness deepens. The last vestiges of consciousness fade away, and she gracefully drifts into a serene slumber, her mind finally finding solace in the quiet expanse of her dreams.
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A/N: Woo! We have officially started, I hope you enjoy my second official story.
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Redemption
FanfictionRedemption: (n.) The action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil. Pronounced re-demp-tion. G!P Amber ______________________________________ Amber Freeman is the eighth Ghostface. She despises the title with a fiery passion. She has alw...
